The Wolf Fell in Love with Red Riding Hood
by amekazakai
Summary: Chasing that red scarf through the streets of London leads to the discovery of the person who just might be the most fantastic man in the world. Sherlock x Reader. Based on Hitoshizuku-P's "The Wolf Fell in Love with Red Riding Hood."


**So this is my first Sherlock fic and it's a Sherlock x Reader!**

**The story is set after Sherlock mysteriously comes back from the dead and things are somewhat back to normal.**

**And yes, Sherlock is meant to be Red Riding Hood.**

Disclaimer: I don't own the song or characters.

**Please read and review!**

* * *

_It all started by chance,_

_The inevitable one scene._

_What I could see in the distance_

_Was a wavering patch of red._

* * *

It all started with the red scarf.

You were strolling through the streets of London, headed for work, when you saw a flash of red as someone ran quickly through the streets.

You raised an eyebrow and, curious as to who was stupid enough to try to run through the crowded streets of a bustling city, quickly began to follow it.

It should have been easy.

London's citizens were usually a shade of gray or black, so the red should have stood out.

But, as usual, your timing was horrible.

The usually drab streets of London were dotted with red and green, making it hard for you to keep track of the red scarf that had caught your attention.

But it wasn't impossible; the unusual _speed_ with which the scarf darted through the streets made it slightly easier.

So you barely managed to keep up.

When the red scarf turned the corner into a more peaceful part of London, you slowed down.

You leisurely made your way down the street with your gaze focusing on the space immediately in front of you.

You made a mental note of the door the red scarf vanished through and when you passed by it, you threw a quick glance at the address on the door.

'_221B.'_

You filed the address away in your mind and continued on your way down the street, a satisfied smile lingering on your lips.

* * *

_What I found in the mysterious forest_

_Was a dark shadow_

_And the feeling something had been set in motion._

_Frightened, I ran away._

* * *

"This way, John!"

Sherlock weaved in and out of the throngs of people that filled the crowded streets of London.

He didn't bother to make sure John was behind him; Sherlock knew John would be, and that was all that mattered.

Besides, catching the criminal was far more important than babysitting John.

The man disappeared down a street and Sherlock darted after him, and though he turned to corner only a few steps behind the criminal, the street was empty when Sherlock reached it.

The consulting detective made a frustrated noise as he was forced to stop his pursuit.

John joined him a few seconds later, and the two disappointed men turned and headed home.

As they walked briskly to try to keep out the winter cold, Sherlock passed his phone to John so John could order food from Angelo's.

Ten minutes later, they strode into Angelo's, John exchanged quick greetings with Angelo as the flatmates grabbed the bags the restaurant owner held out to them, and five minutes after that, the two men found themselves turning the corner to Baker Street.

"So."

John glanced at Sherlock, slightly startled by the sudden attempt at conversation on the taller man's part.

"So...?"

"So you haven't noticed yet?"

"Noticed what?"

Sherlock sighed impatiently. "Honestly, John, how _did_ you keep yourself safe in the war with such ghastly observational skills?"

"No matter how oblivious you are, it's sort of difficult to not notice a bomb flying straight at you, you know. So what didn't I notice?"

"Someone's been following us for a while now."

"And you didn't think telling me earlier would be a good idea, why?"

"Being the fallible human being as you are, you would have been tempted to look back, which in turn would have alerted our stalker to the fact that we're aware of her."

"I wouldn't have..."

John's indignant voice trailed off as Sherlock gave him a pointed look."

"Okay, I _might_ have. So... if we have a stalker why are we... y'know, just walking home and letting her know exactly where we live?"

"...Because she's not dangerous."

"Not dangerous?"

"Yes. She's just.. curious."

* * *

_The plot behind our meeting_

_Could only lead to "The End."_

_That's why I purposely took_

_The long way around._

* * *

After you turned the corner of Baker Street, you started off for the nearest phone book before suddenly stopping yourself.

You had a strange feeling that you'd seen the address somewhere before, but you just couldn't be sure...

You frowned at yourself, annoyed.

You set off again, walking in a random direction as you struggled to remember where you'd seen the address before.

Fifteen minutes later, you had successfully managed to get yourself lost in the city that you had grown up in, but you didn't care.

You had just remembered seeing the address in some kind of article that also mentioned your boss, DI Lestrade.

And speaking of Lestrade...

Your phone rang and you answered without checking the caller ID; you didn't have to, you knew who it was.

"Officer."

"Detective Inspector, good morning."

"Do you know what time it is?"

"Ummm... Sometime past noon, I think."

"Then why are you not at the office?"

"Well... I got caught up with something and I managed to get myself lost, so I can't get to work, even if I wanted to."

"...Where are you?"

You rattled off the street signs you had just seen, and ten minutes later, a black car pulled up to the curb in front of you."

You opened the passenger seat and slid in, flashing a smile at the grumpy man behind the wheel.

"Cheer up, boss, I'll buy you a danish tomorrow."

Lestrade didn't respond, but his mood seemed to lighten.

You decided that it was a good time to ask him about the Red Scarf as it'd ever be.

"So... I was wondering if you knew anything about the people living in 221B Baker Street."

"221B?"

"Mmhmm."

Lestrade, frowned. "Well, I do know who lives there, but why d'you ask?"

You shrugged. "I saw someone going in with a scarf that was a particularly alarming shade of red and wondered who it was."

Lestrade stiffened. "Was he wearing the scarf?"

You nodded.

He gave a sigh of relief. "Well, that means that it won't end up on my desk as a present, so that's good."

The two of you chuckled before Lestrade grew serious again.

"But really, what do you want with Sherlock?"

_'Sherlock...'_

"Nothing, sir. Just simple curiosity, I swear."

"Well, I wouldn't advise you to get mixed up with him. He's not a _bad_ person, but... well... he has his... quirks."

You nodded to appease his obvious worry, but didn't respond and the two of you were silent for the rest of the ride.

You smiled happily, more than satisfied with the conversation.

You now had a name for the Red Scarf.

_'Sherlock.'_

* * *

_"I want to meet you."_

_"I want to touch you."_

_"I want to talk with you."_

_Not once the thoughts did it occur to me._

* * *

Sherlock paced impatiently in front of the door to Lestrade's office, irritation radiating from him.

John leaned against the wall and fiddled with his phone, having lost interest in watching Sherlock a while ago.

"Where could he possibly be?"

"At lunch, maybe? It's noon and some people _do_ keep up a regular schedule for meals, Sherlock."

Sherlock frowned at John, clearly not appreciating John's jab at his eating habits.

He wasn't given time to retort as a familiar voice groaned behind him.

"Sherlock, it's way too early in the morning to be dealing with you."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he faced Lestrade and the girl who had obviously been trailing behind the DI.

"And it's always too early to be dealing with Anderson's stupidity."

John cut in. "Afternoon, Lestrade."

"'S not afternoon 'til I've had lunch, but it's good to see you too."

"So what're you two here for?"

Sherlock didn't reply, just giving the girl a pointed look.

Lestrade followed his gaze and shrugged. "Go on, it's fine. I trust her to stay quiet. Which reminds me, I haven't introduced you yet, have I?"

"You don't have to, Detective Inspector, since I'm just a lowly officer."

Lestrade and John gave her surprised looks, but Sherlock just raised an eyebrow, brain already starting to analyze the new girl.

_'Surprised, but not at the "lowly officer," it was before then, but it happened too late to be associated with the refusal, so it was for "Detective Inspector," which implies that she usually isn't that formal. So they have a casual relationship. They're both in their coats, which means they either came together or one of them was waiting outside for the other, but I didn't see either of them outside of the building, so they came together, which implies an intimate relationship. She doesn't seem shy or nervous upon meeting her boss's acquaintances, meaning she's either very bold or she already knows of our association with each other. Lastly, she doesn't want us to know her identity, so she's either hiding something from us or wanting to keep us from attaching a name to Lestrade's new lover if we ever feel inclined to gossip.'_

He would have kept going, but he caught her amused gaze, and decided to postpone the rest of his conclusions.

All that was important for now was that he had new material against Lestrade.

_'Perfect.'_

* * *

_You, so frail, and I, crafty and sly,_

_Met_

_And that was "The End."_

* * *

You knew what he was thinking, what he was assuming.

It was what everyone first assumed, after all.

But Sherlock wasn't saying on it, so you guessed that he was either planning on interrogating Lestrade later when you weren't around or he was planning on using his new "information" as blackmail later.

You chuckled quietly as you looked at Lestrade.

"I'll be going then."

The DI nodded at you. "Yeah, go on then. I'll see you later."

You smiled sweetly. "Of course."

You nodded at Sherlock and the other man. "Afternoon, gentlemen."

You turned to leave, then paused, a plan forming in your mind.

You hesitated a little before making up your mind and swiftly kissing Lestrade on the cheek.

"Bye, sweetie."

You left the men after that, snickering quietly to yourself.

Lestade's surprised face had been funny, but you weren't too worried about him.

You were the affectionate type who went around hugging and linking arms with everybody, so he'd just assume that the kiss was your latest way of being affectionate.

Sherlock, on the other hand, had a smug smile on his face, which amused you more than it probably should.

The tall man obviously believed that he was right in his belief that you and Lestrade were lovers, and really, who were you to end his delusions?

You sighed, slightly sad that you wouldn't get to see his face when he'd find out that he was wrong.

Would he be angry at himself?

Confused?

Disappointed?

Depressed?

You hummed to yourself as you tried to imagine the various expressions on his face, before suddenly stopping and frowning slightly.

Even by your standards, you were getting a bit too obsessed.

* * *

_Even if it's cruel, even if you curse it,_

_Fate won't change_

_Ah, why are you-_

_Why am I-_

_Why are we the Big Bad Wolf and Little Red Riding Hood?_

* * *

When she kissed Lestrade, John's eyes seemed to be popping out in shock, but Sherlock just gave a smug smile.

He was right about their relationship, then.

Of course, his deductions were expected to be flawless, but it was still nice when they were confirmed.

John, however, didn't seem to want to believe the obvious.

"Um... Lestrade..."

"Yeah?"

"Um... Are you two...? You know..."

John looked unwilling to elaborate, leaving his question very vague, which caused Sherlock to internally sigh in exasperation.

Luckily, Lestrade's intelligence was around the same low level as John's, so after only a few seconds of contemplation and blundering, Lestrade was able to understand the question.

"What...? ...Oh. Oh!"

Lestrade's eyes widened and he waved his hands in rejection.

"No, no, we're not... We don't have _that_ kind of relationship. She's just the type who likes... touching people. That... that kiss didn't mean anything. I think. I'm pretty sure."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

"So you're _not_ sleeping with her?"

"No, Sherlock."

"..."

Sherlock frowned.

"...There's always something. Always."

John just sighed, and exchanged glances with Lestrade before pulling a brooding Sherlock into Lestrade's office, the DI following them in.

"So, why're you guys here at this ungodly hour?"

Sherlock started rattling off a list of what he needed Lestrade to do, mind still focused on his earlier failure.

_'Always. Always that _one_ thing.'_

* * *

_I'm sure you'll visit_

_This road today as usual._

_And today I , as usual, can do nothing more_

_Than watch you from afar._

* * *

You spun a pencil between your fingers as you gazed at the screen with a delighted smile on your face.

Google really was one of the most fantastic inventions of all time.

After all, it had led you to John Watson's blog.

John Watson himself didn't interest you (you weren't even sure who he was, but you reckoned that he was the plain man who'd been standing next to Sherlock that time at the office), but the subject of most of his blog entries did.

Sherlock Holmes.

A man of mystery and danger and everything you'd ever wanted in from someone of the opposite gender.

Perfect.

You stared at the picture of Sherlock (one of his worse, deerstalkers really didn't flatter him) and pursed your lips in thought as you tried thought of various ways to get on his good side.

Kidnap John?

Already been done, according to John, and you preferred not being held at gunpoint when talking Sherlock.

Commit a crime?

Lestrade'd have your head if he learned you were the culprit.

Date John?

John seemed like nice person, and you'd hate to break his heart later.

Break into the flat?

You remembered reading about how Sherlock sometimes shot at the wall when he was bored, and you'd rather not chance walking into such a moment.

Get on Lestrade's good side so you'd get to tag along on cases?

Hmmm...

You weren't sure whether your wallet could take the loss of so much money to the Flatter-Lestrade-with-Danishes charity, but you figured it was worth a shot.

Lestrade was already used to your antics and liked you well enough anyways.

You sighed and leaned back in chair.

_'I wonder if just making danishes myself would be cheaper?'_

* * *

_You will be hiding just beyond_

_That tree, as always._

_I pretend not to notice_

_As I pass on by._

* * *

The first thing Sherlock noticed was that Lestrade had gained weight.

"...Lestrade."

"Yeah?"

"Stop eating danishes, you'll slow us down when we're chasing criminals."

Lestrade's hand twitched but the DI didn't reply.

Probably because he knew that Sherlock was right, as usual.

The second thing he noticed was the girl.

She was staring intently at a man who had just passed by the group, not realizing that she was being talked about.

"...Lestrade."

"...What."

"I thought she wasn't your lover."

"What? ...Oh, yeah. She's not."

"Then why is she here?"

"She's part of the Yard, Sherlock. She's here doing the same thing as the rest of us: investigating a crime."

Sherlock watched as she turned back and refocused on the conversation of the people closest to her.

Sherlock just grunted in response to Lestrade and turned away to talk to John.

The third thing he noticed was that Donovan and Anderson were unusually quiet.

Sherlock gave a brief smile.

Good, he wouldn't have to lose a few more brain cells listening to the two speak.

Sherlock suddenly sighed.

Never mind, Anderson had started thinking again.

"Anderson, shut up."

"...What? I didn't even say-!"

"You were _thinking_."

Anderson gave an exasperated groan as the new girl started snickering quietly.

Anderson glared at her and she just flashed him an amused smile.

Anderson opened his mouth to retort, but Sherlock interrupted him.

"Oh, just shut _up_!"

* * *

_Our eyes don't meet._

_Our voices don't reach._

_Only our sighs link us,_

_Overlapping each other in vain._

* * *

"Hello, my dear."

You just stared blankly from the doorway to your apartment at the man who was sitting in your chair, the laptop on your desk that you had shut down before you had left now turned on.

Your eyes narrowed; you didn't really appreciate having your computer browsed through without your permission.

The man gave you an amused smile.

"You're still the same, aren't you? As cold as ever to me."

You ignored him and made your way to kitchen, intent on getting _something_ in your system before he ruined your life.

Again.

Preferably a nice cup of tea.

"The ice princess, I used to call you. I never knew you could smile until the day I walked in on you talking to that agent. But after that moment, I never saw you smiling ever again."

You went on ignoring him as you tried to silently will the water to boil faster.

You could feel a massive migraine coming on and you refused to deal with it without downing a cup or two first.

"Never, that is, until last week."

With your back to him, he didn't see the slight widening of your eyes, but he did note the slight twitch of your hand.

You bit your lip before replying.

"I thought the man in the hideous purple coat looked like you. You fashion sense hasn't changed, Jim."

Moriarty frowned, a bit offended.

"That coat looks fabulous on me, dear."

"That's what you said about the crown."

Moriarty's eye twitched, but decided to postpone the argument.

"Well, my dear, getting back to the topic... You have on crush on Sherlock, don't you."

"Mmm. Not really."

"Well, maybe crush wasn't the right word. Let me rephrase: you're obsessed with him, aren't you."

You just eyed him warily.

Moriarty gave you a lazy, half-lidded smile.

"I can help you."

"With what?"

"I can help you get closer to him. Help you make him _yours_."

"That's not what I want."

"Isn't it?"

You just stayed silent.

"Honey, I know what it feels like to be obsessed with Sherlock Holmes. To dance with him in an unending game. And I know that's what you want to do. You want to feel that _thrill_ again, don't you?"

You didn't reply, your eyes averted from his.

Moriarty smirked.

"Think about it."

And he left.

* * *

_Even if I can't meet you,_

_Even if I can't touch you,_

_Even if I can't talk with you,_

_It's enough._

_Just having you, so helpless, and I, so awkward,_

_There is good enough._

* * *

"She's staring at you again."

"What?"

"I said, 'She's staring at you again.'"

"Oh. So?"

John sighed.

Honestly, Sherlock could be so dense at times.

"Sherlock, I think she likes you."

"Impossible."

John blinked.

"'Impossible?'"

"Yes, John, that's what I said."

"Why's it impossible?"

"She stares at you more."

"...What?"

Sherlock looked up from his microscope to give John an exasperated look.

"Honestly, John, you're being slower than usual today."

John ignored the comment.

"She stares at me?"

Sherlock sighed impatiently and resumed staring into the microscope.

John watched for a few seconds longer before continuing the conversation.

"But say she does like you. Would you give her a chance if she did?"

"Can't."

"Can't? ...Do you mean 'won't'?"

"No, John, I mean 'can't'."

"...Why not?"

"Because then I'd be playing straight into his hands."

"Whose hands?"

"Who else's?"

"...Do you mean...? _Him_?"

"Yes, John. Him."

John stared at Sherlock in disbelief before groaning.

"Not _again_."

* * *

_If this can't be called "love,"_

_Then we have no need for words._

_Ah, even if we think it over_

_And think it over,_

_The ending never changes._

* * *

You stared silently through the scope, your mind wandering and body aching from staying in the same position for the past hour or so.

You sighed quietly and shifted slightly, huffing as you remembered a time when you could go for several hours in the same position without your body protesting half as much as it was now.

Bored, you ran trigger finger absently against the smooth metal of the sniper rifle in front of you.

You frowned slightly, wondering how you'd gotten yourself into such this mess in the first place.

Quickly scanning your whereabouts to make sure it was safe, you stood up on the rooftop and stretched out your sore muscles before assuming position again.

A sudden commotion in the street below snapped you to attention and you peered into the scope.

Sure enough, there were your targets.

John Watson and Sherlock Holmes and (you groaned when you saw him) Greg Lestrade.

People you didn't know intimately were one thing, but Lestrade was your steady source of income (Moriarty's jobs, and therefore pay, were highly irregular).

Fortunately, Moriarty's instructions had been very clear: no killing, just a warning shot.

A shot to show that he wished to take up a game with Sherlock again.

The trio stopped in front of a building, and in the time it took them to open the door, you had fired off two shots perfectly aimed at your targets.

The two bullets shot past either side of Sherlock's head and shattered the glass door in front of him.

The screaming started immediately, and Lestrade rushed inside to try to calm everybody down, but Sherlock and John's heads whipped up, one pair narrowed to try to catch a glimpse of the sniper, the other pair calculating the position the sniper had shot from.

But you didn't see any of it.

Right after you had fired the two bullets, you stashed the gun in the duffle bag next to you and sprinted across the rooftop to the other side.

The rooftop of the building next door was fairly close and you threw the bag over the gap before taking a running leap across, landing safely on the other side.

By the time John and Sherlock were searching the rooftop you had been waiting at for clues, you were already on the street and making your way home.

* * *

_I wanted to meet you__._

_I wanted to touch you._

_I wanted to talk with you._

_This is the truth._

_You, so precious, and I, so gentle,_

_Meet, an "End" where we can be together._

* * *

Sherlock was thrilled.

It wasn't a murder, but dancing with Moriarty always excited him about the same amount.

John sighed quietly as he watched Sherlock pace around the rooftop, much more energetic than he had been just a minute ago.

"Find anything?"

John turned to Lestrade as the other man approached him from behind.

"Nothing yet."

The two of them stood watching Sherlock's antics for a while.

"Do you have any clues?"

Lestrade shook his head with a sigh. "None. Might be someone with a grudge against Sherlock or the Yard."

Sherlock snorted. "Don't flatter yourself."

Lestrade and John both gave him disapproving looks, which Sherlock ignored.

Sherlock turned a full 360 degrees before starting to question Lestrade.

"Lestrade, was anybody in your squad off today?"

"What?"

"Did anybody take the day off?"

"Umm... Well, one of the female officers did. You know, the one who you thought I was a couple with."

"Mmm. Does she have any military background?"

"Iraq War, sharpshooter."

John gave a surprised look. "Really? Her?"

Lestrade nodded, understandingly. "Yeah, you wouldn't know it just by looking at her."

Sherlock made an impatient noise. "Any experience with long-range guns?"

"Obviously. Went with her to a shooting range once. Didn't miss a single one."

John was obviously impressed. "Single target?"

"Single bullseye."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Even more of a crack shot than you."

Sherlock frowned. "Honestly, John, you should be asking more important questions than that."

"Like what?"

"Like, 'Lestrade, do you know where she lives?'"

Lestrade's brow furrowed. "Well, yes, but-."

"Good. Let's go."

* * *

_Again and again,_

_Again and again,_

_We prayed to God for it,_

_But... sadly, oh so sadly_

_We're the Big Bad Wolf and Little Red Riding Hood._

* * *

The first time Jim had approached you, you'd been a broken mess chained to a hospital bed.

You were an expert sharpshooter, fresh from the Iraq War with nothing but your firearms and the tight white bandage winded around the wound on your leg caused by a bomb that had landed a bit too close to you.

After the chaos and adrenaline of the battlefield, the tranquility, the _whiteness_ of your hospital room caused something to snap.

They tranquilized you in the beginning, but as you continued to try to destroy the room and somehow find a way to stain the white with something, anything, they started chaining you down instead.

Finding yourself unable to move and the peace and quiet too suffocating, you started screaming instead.

You screamed until your throat was dry and raw, until you damaged it irreversibly (you'd speak with a slight rasp for the rest of your life).

You don't remember the first time he arrived, but Moriarty watched you during your fits of anger.

He'd walk into the room at any time of the day and lean against the far wall from the bed and you, just watching, sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes for hours on end.

He always had this amused, lazy, peaceful smirk on his face, like the violence was lulling him to sleep.

You hated it.

Then one day, after months of destroying yourself, after an hour or so, he pushed himself off the wall.

You were expecting him to walk to the door, so the sight of him walking over to you surprised you in silence.

He stopped right next to you, his smirk still on his face.

"I can get you out. Would you like that, my dear?"

You just gazed at him, your face blank.

"I can help you taint this world, paint it _red_. I can give you a _purpose_. What do you say?"

And how could you say no?

That was all you knew in the beginning.

But after Moriarty disappeared, Lestrade found you, took you in, taught you how to live normally.

You became normal, a white room.

Until a red scarf ran past you on the street, a red scarf belonging to a man who was only attracted people who were as tainted as you used to be.

A man who _lived _for the thrill he received only when he was dancing in a room stained with red.

No wonder when Moriarty suddenly showed up one day and offered to help you break that white room once more, you took it.

* * *

_I want to comfort you as you cry._

_The hand I reach out to you is shaking._

_I love you._

_I want to hold you tight._

_But..._

_I just can't...!_

* * *

Bursting into the apartment by using the key Lestrade had for the place, the first things Sherlock saw was chaos.

The small flat was pretty much _trashed_, even by Sherlock's standards.

John blinked rapidly, surprise clear on his face.

Lestrade just sighed, seemingly used to the mess.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him.

_'Not lovers, indeed...'_

Lestrade scowled at him, obviously having followed Sherlock's train of thoughts.

"You've been here before."

"She oversleeps all the time. In the end, she just gave me a key and told me to pick her up whenever she has a morning shift."

Sherlock and John gave him skeptical looks, but Lestrade didn't get a chance to retort.

The bedroom door opened and a head popped out.

"Boss?"

"Morning."

"Mmm. I thought I told you I'm the day off."

"Yeah, about that. Were you anywhere near the Yard this morning?"

"No, why?"

Lestrade gave Sherlock a look. "No reason."

Sherlock frowned.

"You know perfectly well why. The gun's in the duffle next to your bed."

She raised an eyebrow. "What gun?"

"The gun, the _gun_. A sniper rifle, judging by the distance you shot at."

"Boss, what is he talking about?"

Lestrade looked mildly uncomfortable. "Someone sniped us this morning as we were going into the building."

"And he thinks I was the one?"

"...Yeah."

You looked at Sherlock thoughtfully, a little awe in your eyes.

Lestrade eyed you warily. "What are you thinking?"

"Nothing much. Just wondering how he always manages to find the truth."

* * *

_No matter how I struggle,_

_No matter how I wish,_

_These claws, these fangs don't disappear._

* * *

Lestrade looked at you, obviously struggling to comprehend your words."The truth?"

"Mm. The truth."

"So... You were the one...?"

"...Maybe?"

"For fuck's sake, tell me!"

You fidgeted, a bit uncomfortable.

"...Wait. All those questions about Sherlock recently, pestering me to let you help with the cases he was working on, was all that because you wanted to kill him?!"

At this, you looked up indignantly, your eyes flashing.

"If I _wanted_ to kill him, I could have easily. Your backs were completely exposed."

Lestrade gave you a searching look.

"Then why?"

You just looked at Sherlock.

Sherlock gazed back at you.

"Because you were attracted to me. Because you knew that I most likely wouldn't pay attention unless you did something... drastic."

John frowned. "In other words, we can blame all this on Sherlock's apparent asexuality?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Not exactly. Sherlock, I think you're slipping."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed at the comment.

You just smiled a little.

"Yes, I suppose I am attracted. And yes, my aim was to get your attention. But I didn't want to do something... "drastic." I needed to taint myself again, because you only get excited by people by people who are stained."

Sherlock looked questioningly at you. "'Taint yourself again?'"

Lestrade made a strangled sound. "_No. Not again. _You can't-!"

"I can and I will."

John cleared his throat. "Soooo... What are we talking about?"

Sherlock sighed. "After she came back from the Iraq War, she became an assassin because she was too used to the mindless killing, and now she's reverting back to her homicidal tendencies. Honestly, John, do keep up."

"How did you...? ...Never mind."

You frowned. "I won't go back to being a mindless killer. I don't want to lose myself like that again, and that'd give my employer too much power over me. Which reminds me. He's picking me up soon, so I have to get going."

You walked into your room and swung the duffel bag next to your bed over your shoulder before reaching into both back pockets of your jeans and aiming two pistols at the men.

"I'll be taking my leave now."

Lestrade gave you a warning look. "You know if you go now, I can't ever cover up for you again."

You gave him a sad smile. "I know. Thanks for giving me another chance at life, Detective Inspector Lestrade. It's been a pleasure working with you."

"Likewise."

You looked at John. "Dr. Watson, right? Watch his diet for me, will you? If someone doesn't watch him, he'll get fat."

John inclined his head as Lestrade made a small noise of protest.

You just nodded to Sherlock and you walked past them, not bothering continue to make sure they weren't following you, because you knew that they wouldn't do anything.

They could catch you another day.

You were at the door when Sherlock spoke up.

"Why shoot at us in the first place? Why not conveniently disappear at the same time someone dies?"

You turned back to see the men watching you, silently waiting for an answer.

You shrugged. "The warning shot wasn't my idea. It was a request from my employer. I'm sure you know who it is."

"Moriarty."

"Mmhmm."

You opened the door, then flashed a last bright smile at them.

"I look forward to dancing with you gentlemen in the near future."

With that, you left.

That'd be your real last smile for quite a while.

* * *

_So, I'll just wait_

_Until you stop crying._

_There, beyond that tree._

_Forever..._


End file.
